


Skyscrapers

by happybeans



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Gen, Happy ending but like...not a happy story yaknow, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, MAJOR trigger warning on this one folks, there is no present rape but it is the focus of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 10:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: “Doing okay over there?”Take a breath.Peter shakes himself into the present, grinning.“I’m good, Mr. Stark,” he says with a laugh.Hold it.“Just got lost in thought.”Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow but shrugs.Let it out.“Well, let me know if you need any help with it,” he says, gesturing to Peter’s workbench.Peter shoots him a thumbs-up. “All good,” he says.Everything’s fine.-----------------Peter was abused as a child. He tries to say that he's fine. He's not so fine.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 490





	Skyscrapers

**Author's Note:**

> Yo MAJOR trigger warning on this. Do not read if you cannot handle reading about a strong discussion of the after-effects of child sexual abuse. Additionally, it is implied that a side-character is sexually assaulted, but there is no detail discussed. Still, keep that in mind for deciding whether you are going to read this fic. Stay safe, everybody.

The worst part, other than the literal everything, is probably that Peter knows he should be over it by now.

Like, no offense to himself, but get over it, you know? It happened, like, eight years ago, or whatever. He’s fine. He lived through it, it’s over, he’s _ fine _.

So why does he still feel it haunting him, looming over him like the highest skyscrapers in the city?

Why is he still not fine?

After he told Aunt May and Uncle Ben, life got crazy. There were police reports, then court, then restraining orders. 

Skip was found guilty, and it’s only now that he’s older that Peter realizes how lucky he was for that.

As is, though, he doesn’t feel very lucky. Peter didn’t keep up with Skip, not intentionally, really, but, well, Google is pretty easy to use, and it doesn’t take long to find out there’s an apartment in Skip’s name on the west-side of the city. Out of jail, then.

And that’s… Well. It’s a thing.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter finds himself asking one day, when the sun is setting over the city and the lab is filled with the sounds of their tinkering, “Do you think bad people can change?”

He hears Mr. Stark set down his socket wrench on the concrete floor with a ting.

“I think that depends,” Mr. Stark says vaguely. “Can I ask why you’re asking?”

Peter’s lips press together. He draws in a breath through his nose then says, “I don’t know. It’s just something that’s been bugging me lately.”

“You’re wondering if there’s any point to being Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark guesses. 

Peter doesn’t correct him. “Yeah, I suppose,” he lies after a second.

Mr. Stark hums. He shifts in his position on the ground so that he’s facing Peter instead of the car, legs out in front of him.

Peter pushes his web-shooters to the side and focuses on Mr. Stark.

“That’s a pretty heavy question and I’m no philosopher,” Mr. Stark says. He looks at his hands and wipes them on his jeans as he continues, “But I think you’re doing a good thing. I think we need to give them the chance to change, at least. That make sense?”

It does. And Peter agrees.

It’s a good thing Skip’s out of jail. 

Peter spends the night at the tower that night, and he has a nightmare again. As he throws up in the bathroom, tears prickling his eyes in the middle of the night, he keeps reminding himself that bad people can change.

He throws up again.

————————

The second-worst part—maybe the first, he doesn’t know. It’s hard to rank this! Fine, one of the worst parts—of the whole, you know, is how he sometimes gets confused and feels bad around, like, teachers, or—ugh, he doesn’t want to say it.

He knows his English teacher isn’t Skip. He knows that this professional man won’t—proposition him, or do something.

God, Peter, you’re fine!

But when another nightmare keeps him awake way too late and he only falls asleep during class later that day and then Mr. Hansen wants to meet with Peter alone, after school—

Well, it’s hard to admit that he’s scared. It’s difficult to say that his chest is tight and his hands shake. 

But, like he already knew it would, everything turns out fine. 

Mr. Hansen gives him a detention and sends him away and that’s that.

Until Aunt May and Mr. Stark find out.

May’s working a double, so Peter’s over at Mr. Stark’s again.

Peter loves this. Mr. Stark is so cool, and so fun and smart, and Peter always has a great time.

Only, well, okay. The small issue is that sometimes—not all the time, only every now and then—Mr. Stark makes Peter feel...confused. Like with Mr. Hansen.

Don’t judge him. Peter’s already beating himself up about it. This is Mr. Stark! Peter knows him! Peter trusts him!

Mr. Stark would never do anything, ever, but as he looms over Peter, like a skyscraper, Peter has to force his breaths.

“Is this a Spider-Man issue?” Mr. Stark is asking. “Because we can cut your curfew if that’s what has to happen.”

Peter swallows. “No,” he says, twisting his hands and looking down. “S-Spider-Man isn’t the problem.”

Mr. Stark grabs his shoulder then, and Peter holds back a flinch but can’t stop himself from tensing up.

“Hey, look at me,” Mr. Stark says as he does it, and Peter looks up. Mr. Stark doesn’t seem to notice the near-flinch because he continues, “I’ll let it go this time, just don’t let it become an issue.”

Peter nods, and Mr. Stark’s hand comes off. 

Letting out a breath, Peter forces a smile. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Stark,” he says.

And that’s the end of that. Mr. Stark changes the subject and everything’s fine. There is no proposition, which Peter knew there never would be all along.

He knew that.

Peter’s a horrible person for doubting Mr. Stark, of all people.

From there, Peter does his best to trust Mr. Stark, to feel as safe around him as he does around Aunt May.

He doesn’t, not really. But he tries.

————————

Really, no matter how much he’s harped on over it, it’s not that big of a deal. Peter usually can go a solid week without thinking about it, and anyway, it doesn’t normally completely ruin his day when he does think about it.

Normally.

He hears her shouting from blocks away and his blood runs cold. 

By the time he gets there, he’s too late. He stops it, but she’s already been hurt, already been traumatized.

Peter calls it an early patrol that night, but he doesn’t sleep. He shakes apart, alone in his bed. Crying under the blanket so Aunt May doesn’t hear.

————————

Skip’s out of jail and that’s a good thing. 

This becomes a sort of mantra, and Peter’s almost able to believe it. 

“I met the sweetest boy on my way back from the meeting,” Pepper says conversationally over dinner. 

It’s quiet, just Peter, Mr. Stark, and her, and Peter perks up.

“Sweeter than me?” he asks as a joke, and Pepper chuckles at it.

“Not quite that sweet,” she says, “But it really made my day. Some a-hole—excuse my language, Peter—tripped me and my purse spilled everywhere.”

Mr. Stark interrupts, saying, “Where and when? I’ll—”

“You will do nothing,” Pepper says, stopping him in his tracks. She smiles despite the story, saying, “Don’t make it a big deal, Tony. But this sweet young man, he stopped and helped me pick it all up.”

“You’re Pepper Potts,” Mr. Stark says. “Kid was looking for money, probably.”

Peter laughs through the food in his mouth. He swallows then says, “Jeez Mr. Stark, such a downer.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says with a shrug.

“That’s the thing,” Pepper says, excited, “I swear he didn’t even recognize me. He walked with me for a minute for company. It was so sweet.”

“Great, now you’re talking to strangers on the street. This is why we drive.”

“More like why you get driven,” Peter adds, and Mr. Stark clicks a finger-gun and wink at him.

“Whatever,” Pepper says finally. “Skip was a darling.”

Peter drops his fork, eyes blowing wide. 

Pepper and Mr. Stark both turn to look at him, and Peter goes red. He coughs then says, “Woops,” and picks the fork back up.

“You good?” Mr. Stark asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says. “I just...I knew a guy named ‘Skip’ once.”

“Really?” Pepper says, leaning forward. “What a coincidence! I wonder if he was the same one.”

“Had to have been,” Mr. Stark says, gesturing with his fork in the air. “The hell kind of name is ‘Skip’?” Then he turns to Peter and says: “You two friends or something?”

Peter can hardly breathe in this moment. “Yeah, um, we were friends,” he says. “Then we kinda fell out.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Pepper says. “He seemed like a sweet young man to me.”

Faking a laugh, Peter says, “Yeah, too bad.”

He pokes at his food with the fork but finds his stomach turning. 

Bad people can change. Bad people can change. 

Maybe Skip has changed. 

If Peter were a better person, he would be happy right now.

————————

Peter’s on the edge of the exam table, wringing his hands while Doctor Banner rummages around the cabinets.

‘This is fine,’ Peter thinks.

Mr. Stark’s rubbing his shoulder, Peter is absently aware.

God, he’s so stupid. Everything should have gone perfectly during that mission, but Peter managed to get shrapnel from the explosion right in the thigh.

The upper-thigh. 

Just a little too ‘upper’ for comfort.

“Try to relax,” comes Mr. Stark’s voice. There’s space between them, but with Peter’s advanced hearing...it’s like it was whispered directly into his ear.

Peter can barely suppress a shiver.

Doctor Banner turns around now, a practiced smile on his face.

Peter eyes the needle in his hand for a moment. Then he’s back to tracing Doctor Banner’s face as he steps forward.

“Can you scoot back a little bit, Peter?” Doctor Banner asks.

Peter nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He smiles, but he knows how hysterical it must look; Mr. Stark’s lips close tight, and Doctor Banner’s eyebrows draw together in sympathy.

“You seem nervous,” Doctor Banner says in his nasally and low voice. He taps at the needle as he says it, and a tiny drop of liquid crashes to the floor. “Not a fan of needles?”

Peter’s heartbeat is loud in his ears.

Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.

“No,” Peter lies, voice small.

Doctor Banner nods. “Me, neither,” he says. “This here is just a localized anesthetic, so it won’t put you to sleep; it’ll just numb the area.”

“It’s synthesized for Spider-people,” Mr. Stark adds, giving Peter’s shoulder a squeeze. “So it should stand a chance against your crazy metabolism.”

“Admittedly, this is our first time trying it out,” Doctor Banner says. He cracks a smile as he says, “It’ll be like a small experiment.”

Bum-bum-bum-bumbumbum.

“Haha, sounds great!” Peter says, and his voice cracks in the middle of ‘great’.

“Hey,” Mr. Stark says, “Peter. Breathe.”

He didn’t even notice how shallow his breaths had started to come. How shaky his hands have started to become. And now he’s completely hyperventilating.

“Peter,” Mr. Stark repeats, and he settles what should be a comforting hand on Peter’s thigh.

And Peter just breaks.

He lets out a high-pitched whine, what feels like every muscle in his body tensing up, and shoves Mr. Stark’s hand off. Then he’s pushing backwards, crawling backwards first into the wall then up it, and Mr. Stark and Doctor Banner’s heads tilt up to follow.

“Calm down,” Mr. Stark commands, hands raised. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

Bumbumbumbumbumbumbumbum

Peter jumps down to the side of it all, rattling the room with the force of it, then runs out, slamming the door behind him to buy time. He runs straight, turns left, turns left again, then enters an empty exam-room on his right.

He hears Mr. Stark and Doctor Banner, a hallway away, calling his name.

Peter sits in the corner, knees up and head down, no matter how the position burns the shrapnel still stuck in his leg.

Bumbumbumbum

He doesn’t breathe for a long time.

————————

+1

“Peter,” Mr. Stark says, knocking on the door for what has to be the hundredth time. “Come on, buddy. You’re alright. Let’s talk about this.”

“Don’t wanna talk.”

“Okay, then we don’t have to talk. Not right now, anyways. Let’s get some ice cream.”

Peter shakes his head, even though he knows Mr. Stark won’t be able to see it. It’s quiet for a couple of seconds before Peter says, “No. Just go away, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark pauses before he says, “Peter, we both know I could get FRIDAY to let me in. Just open the door.”

Drawing in a breath, Peter stays still for a second. Then he breaks his arms away from where they’ve been stuck around his knees, straightening out his legs with a painful push. He wordlessly walks to the door and pulls it open.

“Oh,” Mr. Stark says, hand still raised to knock. He must not have expected Peter to actually open it. 

Peter doesn’t say anything. He silently turns around and sits back down at his spot on the floor, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms back around them. He rests his head sideways on top of it all, closing his eyes and listening as Mr. Stark walks closer.

One eye cracks open when there’s a rustle and drop, and Peter sees that he’s settled down on the floor across from him, hands resting behind him and legs out in front. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Mr. Stark asks.

Peter just sits in silence, wanting to respond, but a lump forming in his throat and blocking the way. 

“Okay, that’s fine,” Mr. Stark says. “If you want, we can just sit here for a bit. But you do need to get that leg checked out eventually. We don’t want it closing up more than it already has.”

Even just the thought makes new tears pour into Peter’s eyes. 

“Mr. Stark,” he says, voice wobbling. He can’t even look at him as he says it, looking up and to the side to try to keep from crying. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, nothing to apologize for,” Mr. Stark says. “You got a little freaked out. That’s okay. If you want, you could tell me what happened?”

Peter shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, voice cracking.

“Peter, you can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“Not this.”

There’s a moment of pause. “Did something happen?” Mr. Stark asks finally. 

“I’m fine,” Peter says.

“That’s not what I asked. Does May know?”

Peter swallows then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It happened a long time ago. She knows.”

He looks over in time to see Mr. Stark nod. He’s not looking at Peter, instead holding his chin thoughtfully as he looks across the room. “Good. That’s good.”

More quiet. 

Then Mr. Stark continues, “If you ever want to talk about it…”

“I know,” Peter says. And he does know. “I just...not this.”

“Well, why not?”

Yeah, why not, Peter? It’s like there’s this unspoken rule in his head that it has to be a big secret. Why is everything in his life always a secret?

“You’ll look at me different,” he says finally.

“I won’t,” Mr. Stark claims. “You’ll always be Peter, in my eyes.”

Peter, not Spider-Man. It makes tears renew, even though it’s not a sad thought, it’s a happy one.

“Thank you,” Peter says. “I, um…well... Remember the other night, at dinner? When Pepper was talking about that one guy?”

Mr. Stark rolls with it, thinking for a second before saying, “Right.”

Peter can’t even say Skip’s name. “He, um, I knew him, right? We were friends, but he—”

He loses his voice, unable to speak. Tears pop back into his eyes, and his stomach turns. He forces the words out, and they’re not any more than a whisper: “He raped me.”

“God, Peter,” Mr. Stark says. 

Peter looks over, and Mr. Stark’s face… He looks mortified, pale white and eyes wide, mouth dropping open. 

“I’m so sorry,” he continues.

Peter shakes his head. “It’s in the past,” he says, but his voice breaks and the tears spill over.

“It’s not,” Mr. Stark says, and Peter’s forced to look away, looking to the ceiling in an attempt to stop the waterfall of tears. It doesn’t work. “With things like this… It’s never truly over, is it?”

Peter lets out a sob. “It’s not,” he agrees, shaking his head. 

“Christ, Pete. I can’t even imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says. He knows by now that it’s not his fault, but he still feels bad for making Mr. Stark feel bad.

“No, I—don’t apologize,” Mr. Stark says seriously. “This isn’t something you should ever feel sorry about.”

“I know, I—I know.”

Mr. Stark’s breathing comes heavy. “What can I do?” he asks.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

After another pause, Peter says: “Actually… A hug would be awesome right now.” 

And Mr. Stark doesn’t even hesitate. He’s on his feet in an instant, and Peter follows shortly after. 

Peter gets wrapped up in a crushing hug and closes his eyes. Right now, Mr. Stark is no skyscraper; he’s just familiar and comfort and, dare he say, love.

“I can’t believe you can trust anyone after this,” Mr. Stark says over his head. 

“It’s hard,” Peter admits.

“I’ll say.”

They stand there for a while, just squeezing each other tight. Peter pulls away first, and Mr. Stark backs away then says:

“Peter. Thank you for telling me.” 

Peter nods. 

Mr. Stark continues: “Anything I can do, please let me know. I’ll try to make this okay.”

Peter knows Mr. Stark can’t fix this like he fixes the Spider-suit or FRIDAY’s code. But maybe he can make it better.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. 

Maybe he’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I always planned on writing this fic and decided to just write a little short one. I usually don't like writing serious stuff, but I've been going through it and this helped. To the fellow CSA victim reading this, godspeed.


End file.
